Guilty As Charged
by leroyjenkinsthe45th
Summary: What if Alaska Young had survived her devastating wreck? A mixture of drama and light humor ensues as Alaska continues to be... well, Alaska. DFTBA R&R
1. Chapter 1

I sat up and put my hands over my head. I could smell smoke from my failed attempt. I could even fail at failing. I had to take short, fast breaths, letting the shock set in from watching my life flash right before my eyes. _Everything's fine, Alaska. Everything is going to be ok._

But It wasn't fine. I had just crashed. I had almost killed myself, and then what? I guess I really didn't think that out.

There was the sound of boots hitting the ground as someone was walking towards me. I squinted my eyes, I could feel the heat of a flashlight. It felt like someone had a hot pipe on my forehead, the light mixed with my dying buzz made me almost vomit.

"Mam', you need to get up." The cop I had just crashed my car into was now standing over me.

I nodded my head. But I knew I couldn't get up. If I tried I would just fall down. My hands were sweaty, I couldn't see straight ahead without wincing, and I'm sure I still had alcohol on my breath.

He bent to his knees and put a hand on my shoulder. "Mam. Just, please get up. "

_It's going to happen eventually. _I put my hands under me in order to get a feel of the rough blacktop. I pushed myself up slowly, trying to do my best not to look like a total dumbass.

"There we go, now get into the car."

I swerved as I was standing up. "Which one."

He rolled his eyes. "Wow, y'all really are drunk now aren't ya."

It wasn't a question, it was a fact.

I bent over and put my hands on my knees. "I think I'm going to puke."

That was not a question, it was a fact.

"Don't puke on me, go to da' side of the road."

So I did. I ran over to the edge of the road, down the ditch and hurled. Hurled out everything, everything from last night. I might have felt a little Miles Halter come out of my throat. It looked like a canvas, a canvas of shit. Green and orange shit.

Then I pulled some crazy shit off... I ran. I sprinted over the other side of the ditch and ran into the thicket of trees that briefly surrounded both sides of the road.

I was drunk, fact. I tripped as soon as I entered that playground of a forest. Some shitty rock I tripped over. Getting back up was pointless, so I just sit there, waiting for someone to come over and put me in handcuffs. _This is a terrible way to get arrested. _Usually when I get arrested I go down in style.

Not this time. I could hear the moving and breaking of twigs and branches in the background, and before I knew it someone started to drag me out of the woods. I could tell by the massive, wrinkly hand on my shoulder, this was not the same person I was dealing with earlier. _Well this is civil._ "Sir." I began, "Would treat your fellow man like this?"

No response. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

By this time we were heading down the ditch outside the woods, only a couple of yards from the road. It felt like being a snake without all of the hissing, and also without and control of the body. I had to lift my head so it was chess grated by the blacktop once we had reached the road.

"You have the right to remain silent." Said the cop (which I was glad we was) as he put me in the backseat of his car. He got in the driver seat, the cop I had talked to earlier was writing shotgun while smoking a cigarette. He turned around, "I forgot to tell ya', you have the right to remain silent."

I did not do that. I gave them hell all the way to the hospital.

* * *

Present

Wait, Hospital? We're pulling into a freakin' hospital.

I crammed my head in between the two front seats. "Why are we going to a hospital?"

The cop gave up trying to ignore me. "Stantard procedure for an underage drunk. Over 21 and we put in you in dark room for 8 hours.

_I don't believe that._ "Bullshit."

"Slam!" Both cops closed there doors, and mine is opening. Somebody's grabbing my hand. Some cop that's ate one to many donuts. He unblocked my seatbelt and began to pull me out. "Come on, pottymouth."

"Let me go or I'll say you raped me!"

To Be Continued


	2. Chapter 2

I don't remember anything after that. I woke up in small dark, room that smelled like things I dare not repeat. Because trust me, I know what they smell like. The only thing that I could see was a small source of light coming out the crack in the wall that was directly across from me. _I guess I passed out._ I was free to move, so I guess that means I'm not being held against my will...

After staring at the walls for like thirty minutes I got my ass up and went to look for an exit.

First wall, nothing. Second wall, same thing. Third wall, dito. I stood in front of my last hope for escape. I felt every nack and crevice of that wall. Nothing, just the cold, dark surface of cement against my hands.

_Oh shit..._ I slammed my fist against the wall. "Let me out of here!"

I could hear someone moving in there chair from further down the hallway. "You have the right to remain silent."

Why does everyone say that? "I repeat, let me out!" No response. Only the sound of my loneliness. The air was damp and my throat was starting to hurt. I think the affects of my hangover are just now starting to settle in.

After awhile I gave up worrying and lay my head down on the hard concrete to try to get some sleep. Closing my eyes I play pretend I'm back at school in my own room.

That didn't last long. I woke up from the sound of a door opening. _Wait? A door? _"When did that door get there?"

Some dumbass cop came in and grabbed my arm. He pulled me out of the room. "Only one knob, outside."

"Was I in there because I was drunk?"

"Yes."

"I thought you had to be over 18?"

"Not when your _that_ drunk. You ran straight into a cop car and then tried to run away from the scene of the crime." He was saying this using a soft, hissing voice. Like that somehow was suppose to make more guilty than I already was.

I didn't return eye contact. "Now what?"

"Now you go court."

I nervously rubbed my hands together. "What's bail?"

"Five-hundred dollars."

_Shit. _I put my head down in defeat. I let the officer show me to my cell. When I went in and set on the bed (which the prior cell did not have), the cop just shook his head and closed the door.

I rolled my eyes."What, you think I haven't been here before?"

He shrugged his shoulders from behind as he walked down the hallway.

The bed was old, rusty, and stiff. Just like the last time I was here. I put my hands over my head in disbelief. I wanted to be mad at the alcohol that turned me into a dumbass the night before, I wanted to be mad at the cop that was just doing his job. But to be honest, I have no one to blame but myself. Why do I always do this?

I sat upright and put both arms under my chin. "What was I so mad about anyway?"

Thirty seconds later

"Aaaaaah, LET, ME, OUT!

My hands were shaking, tears were falling right and left. _I can't believe I forgot._

Usually it takes a couple of minutes, but one of the cops was already turning the knob to my door. Another new guy, or should I say older guy that I just haven't met before. Most his mouth was hid by a terrible walrus mustache. He was tan skinned with blue eyes, his face was starting to show signs of wrinkles, so he was probably in his late 50's. "What are you talking about"

My head was between the open door and my cell. I unsuccessfully made an effort to stop sniffling as I tried to explain to him, "It's her, the anniversary!" He looked at me, very seriously.

Then the door slammed between my head and the wall. I stumbled back inside with my hand covering my face.

"Don't bother me unless it's something important, bitch." Then the door shut again.

My face was wet. And I can't tell if it's from tears or blood or a combination of both. Out of good habit I automatically applied pressure to my forehead, revenge would have to wait. And after a few minutes I finally took my hand off from my forehead. Blood was coming off my forehead and I could feel a gash where the door had hit me. So I just sit there, with my hand against the cut, and I cried. Cried like never before.


	3. Chapter 3

Day 2

Somebody woke me up the next morning. and took me to the phone booth. I don't think it was a cop. It was a lady with dark-blonde hair wearing a feminesque suite. Not a lesbian type suite, but one that allowed her to show off her curves and other feminine goodies, while maintaining a business-type format.

When we got to the phone booth she stepped back and grabbed my shoulder and leaned in. "You have one call, make it count."

I stepped up to the booth and started to play with my hair. _I don't know anyone's number. _There's no point in having a cell phone at culver creek, and besides what number would I have called that I already know? My Dad's? No thank you!

I have never needed Miles or Colonel's numbers. There like half a football field away from my room. Never have I needed their numbers', until now.

"Sometime today." She was playing with her phone.

_Somebody's getting pushy. _"I've got an idea."

She looked up from her phone only to quickly return my glance, then her head was back down. "What's your idea"?

"You let me borrow your phone."

She hit a button on her phone and then put it in her pocket. "Why would I do that"?

"Because your phone has internet."

"And"?

"I want use the internet to look up a number."

I wanted to punch her as she rolled her eyes and took the phone out of your pocket. "I'll do it myself, just tell me the number." Her hand, which from some reason I wasn't able to recognize earlier: had a long, black tattoo of a tremble clef. It moved as she pointed to me. "What's the name"?

"Umm, Chip Martin. State is Alambama."

"Is this one of your schools friends."

"Umm, yeah."

"Then just call the school."

I don't know who I want to hit harder, the lady or myself. *Huff* I pitched the phone back up and dialed the number to culvert creek.

*Ring, ring, ring* "Hello."

"Yes, who is this"?

"Who is this"?

I moved the phone across my head so it would be closer to my mouth. "Listen missy, I don't have time for this. Find Chip Martin and get him on the..." She hung up. That bitch hung up on me.

"Shit"! I held the phone close to my chest. "Can I call someone else"?

The lady looked both ways then whispered. "Yes."

_Hopefully better luck this time. _I called the school again.

*Ring, Ring, ring* "Hello"?

I took a deep breath. "This is Alaska Young, I need to talk to Chip."

There was a pause. "I'm afraid I cannot do that."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CANNOT DO THAT"! I'm pretty sure there were fumes coming out of my nostrils.

Laughing, on the other side of the line.

"Listen mother fuc..."

"I'm just joking with you Alaska, geesh. It's me."

"Chip."

"Yeah."

"You don't sound like Chip."

"Well you don't sound like Alaska."

I don't think anyone sounds like themselves on the phone. "Fair enough Chip, if that is your real name. What's my..."

"Seriously are you Alaska"?

"Seriously"?

"Yes."

"Yes."

Another pause. Then it was like my phone exploded. "We thought you were dead! Or kidnapped! Or worse, partying without us!"

I rolled my eyes. "Nope to all. Unfortunately I'm still alive." Then I whispered, "I need your help."

The lady behind me tilted her head in curiosity. "Don't worry, I'm a lawyer remember." She stuck a finger in each ear, "Lalalalalalalala."

"Alaska, where are you"?

"Don't worry about that. Con up five-hundred dollars and bail me out of the local jail."

"I don't have five-hundred dollars! How in the world could you expect me to have five hundred dollars! I..." Typical Chip, he didn't give a shit that I was in jail. He would rather complain about having to cough up five-hundred dollars.

So there I was. At a telephone booth, in jail, with a bad scar on my face. Listening to my lawyer pretending like she was pretending not to listen, and Chip bitch about his financial stability. The whole ordeal would have been pretty funny if it wasn't for the context.

I start to grind my teeth together. "Alright you little bitch. There's three-hundred dollars under my bookshelve, good luck getting it out. The other two-hundred dollars you are going to have to figure out for yourself.

I swear I could hear him grin through the telephone. "That's more like it, I knew you could be reasonable Alaska Young."


	4. Chapter 4

I had to spend the night after the phone call in a cell. The worst part of it was the smell. I swear, last time I was in a cell it did not smell like this. It was like wet dog mixed with dead bodies. It wouldn't suprise me if there were dead bodies below my cell. Living dead bodies, waiting to eat me or have sex with me.

What? That's how it goes in the movies anyway. Plus who doesn't want to have sex with me.

I just sit at the cell door with me legs crossed Indian style, thinking. First off that's kind of racist for me to think that Indians had one particular way of sitting. Maybe they like sitting with their legs straight-out. Maybe, some white guy was scalping an Indian, and in the irony of it all he decided to name his sitting style based on the circumstances. Shit! I'm being prejudice again! Why does it have to be a guy doing the scalping, it could very well be a girl. We give birth and shit, why can't we scalp Indians. I was also thinking about how big of a douchebag that officer was when we slammed the door in my face, maybe if he was looking back at a big muscular man when he was about to slam the door he might have thought twice, but alas that was not the case. Assumptions are dangerous, and if there's anyone here that will get there ass kicked before I leave this building, it will be him... And that thought got me to thinking about why women look at each other the way we do, we look at each other's beast, legs, etc. Most men don't do that, or at least I don't think so... Example, "Hey dude, why can't I have that?"

"What?"

"A butt like that guy, it's perfect."

I don't know, just trying not to think about IT. The IT that got me here. I put my head between two of the iron bars that made the 50's styled jail door and sighed. And that was when somebody came by to unlock my door.

"Someone's here to see you."

"Ok." We walked down the cruddy jail hallway that was filled with mold and STD's. I always looked straight ahead, I looked so straight ahead that I don't even know if there were other jail cells in the hallway. The right turn that lead to the lobby was the only thing that registered in my mind. Who and what was going to bail me out... I could really use some fine wine about right now.

Walking into the lobby was like going into a different world. It was fairly pretty, the chairs, walls, and carpet each gave off a different color that contrasted well with the others. The lobby also, unlike the rest of the building, was actually clean. If you didn't know any better you would assume the place wasn't THAT bad. So I spit on the carpet when the guard turned his head. There was no one else in the room, but in the office in front of the lobby I could see the Secretary having a conversation with two invisible people because the freakin' wall got in the way. The nice, bright orange wall that was oh so deceiving.

So I was left to stand there looking like an idiot. So finally after a couple of awkward moments waiting, I finally saw the two people... Great, this is just my freaking luck.


	5. Chapter 5

**A note from the author**

Hey guys! I am really having a lot of fun writing this story. Alaska is one of the most interesting and humorous characters of any fiction book that I've ever read. I am certainly not up to par with John Green, but I try to portray her as accurate as possible. I would like to continue this, but I have no idea if anyone is enjoying reading this. So please leave a review, favorite it, or message me if you want to see it continued. Frankly, I don't care what you guys do as long as I know whether to continue this or not. I don't want to continue to write something that no one enjoys, or reads for that matter. Thanks


	6. Chapter 6

This is literally the last person I want to see right now. So I tapped the guards shoulder, "You can take me back to my cell now."

He just shook his head, "He just bailed you out."

"Does that mean I have to leave?"

He unlocked my handcuffs.

"Some kind of cop you are!" He didn't get a chance to respond, because I was standing in front of Miles Halters. He shoulders shrugged, demeanor bleak, and eyes lifeless. I would have assumed he was drinking the night before, not me. He looked so scared that I almost felt sorry for him, almost.

At that moment I decided the best thing to do was to not let him talk. "Lets go pudge, what are you waiting for? Someone less attractive?"

Pudge pulled my keys out of his pocket. "I'm driving."

The ride back to Culver Creek was awkward to say the least. Miles looked really upset, so I just left him alone. The entire trip not a single. Word. Was said.

When we got back Miles (Pudge) immediately exited the vehicle and walked away. I quickly got out and followed right behind him. "Keys, please."

"No."

"What do you mean no? Give me my keys!"

"No."

"Give me my keys or I'm never gonna to take you to McDonalds ever again."

He turned around and looked directly at me. Then he shook his head, and he tossed me the keys. "Incredible." He mumbled, while turning around to walk away.

I would have rather he just have punched me in the stomach. It would have felt a lot better. I threw the keys down, and then plopped down beside them on the ground. I guess the reason it hurt so much was the fact that he wasn't angry enough to yell, or sad enough to cry. He was just disappointed, like he had given up on me. I guess that's why it hurt, I've never had someone just give up on me.

I just sit there and cried, cried like a teenage girl, oh wait.

People kept walking by and asking about the crash, if "I was ok?", "did I get hurt?", "why was I crying?" I couldn't really see anyone, and I didn't really care what they had to say. The best thing to do is to just nod your head and wait for them to shut up and leave.

Where the frig was the Colonel? He was the one that was suppose to have picked me up in the first place!

I went by Miles and Colonel's room and left a note on the front door for the Colonel,

Dear Colonel,

Come by my room and stuff, we need to talk.

P.S. Most people would put a sincerely here, but I'm not that sappy.

Alaska

I went to my room and sat on my bed. The place was a bit trashed from the night before. So I did nothing to clean it up. Instead I decided to read one my books that wasn't washed away by the weekday warrior's prank. Some book about about Voltaire, which would usually sound very interesting, but there is like a million different thoughts going through my head at once.

_You've really done it this time, Alaska._

_Why did you brake? Well?_

_Slut, slut, slut, slut, slut_

_Where's Momma?_

"ENOUGH!" I swear, the entire school probably heard that, and if they didn't they will hear about it tommorow... My heart felt like it was in my head, thumping and thumping and thumping, like it wanted out of it's cage. I looked down at my chest.

"Oh, dear heart, how will you ever escape this labyrinth?"

Getting out of bed might have its own repercussions, like passing out. I hate passing out. As long as I continue to live on this earth (not very long, but the world has a way of keeping me around) I like to have control of my body, like as in not having to worry about falling over every time I get up...

Man (woman should work as a phrase as well, male pricks), it would suck to be a fainting goat. They don't necessarily pass out, they just lose control of there bodies. I read that from one of my books, that now looks as if it was retrieved from the Atlantic Acean. Stupid weekday warrior's.

I stopped mid thought because I hear footsteps approaching my door. There was a knock on the door, and then he entered.


	7. Chapter 7

The colonel walked in shirtless and sweaty. The sweat gave his belly an unpleasant gleam, he had a jug of ambrosia in his hands.

"Really? Out of all the times to be drinking, you come in her half naked with a half gallon of liquor in your hands. I said I wanted to talk to you, not have sex with you."

Colonel did his best Jack Sparrow impersonation (which was piss-poor at best) and slowly whirlwinded his way to the floor. Spinning the jug with one hand like Sparrow, "those are interchangeable."

_I guess I'll have to wait to talk to the colonel. _"Come back when your sober." And with no argument he did, that is, he tried to get up and leave. Feeling good about myself I waited until he was walking out the door, "take some acting classes while your at it".

Now I could let the Colonel piss on my afternoon (because he's probably pissing on something), but I'm not going too. I went straight to the "lounge" that is: a small room with a t.v., and I sat down, pulled out the remote from under the couch and hit the power button. The pixels popped on the middle of the screen and spread to the entire thing in just a matter of seconds. I heard static, and then "Ooh, ooh, oh." Different levels of moaning. And I swear I heard "that's not legal" over the picture of... never mind.

I threw the remote against the wall. "Why does everyone watch porn in here! I'm mean really!"

I don't know whether to feel sad for the person(s) that had the balls to bring this trash in here, because one: if this is suppose to be a prank, it really sucks. Two: it's not very smart to leave the porn, if it wasn't a joke. Or whether I should just really be angry, the way they portray women, is relatable to the way whales are treated by seaworld. Without the sex... probably. Men, take notes, there is nothing more offensive to Alaska Young than misogyny. Nothing.

So I took out the disc and tried really hard to snap it in-two. Instead I end up taking it to Lara's room.

Knock, knock! "Lara, trade me DVD' s!"

Door opens, "Wat do yoo want?"

"Something that's not in Romanian..."

I was cut off, Lara engulfed me in a bear hug. "We were all worried about yoo."

I had to roll my eyes at that. Not because I thought Lara _didn't _care, she did care. "Don't be, I'm fine."

"I heerd yoo wrecked?"

"Sort of."

"How?"

_I wasn't supposed to be here. _"I don't remember, everything from that night is a blurr."

It's not like I wanted to lie to Lara. Besides, a lot of that night _was _a blurr.

That was how the conservation continued for the next ten to fifteen minutes. Then, once I had left, I realized we never got to trade movies.

_Great, I'm stuck with this porn. _It's really sad that people spend money on this trash. I never had to watch porn, I was to busy _doing it._ Sex, that is. Not the porn.

Normally it's times like these that I would go and visit Miles. Which is really sad, because everything else needs to fail before I even consider looking in Miles direction. Besides, there's absolutely no way he would to talk to me now. I'm not for sure he would even open the door if he heard my usual army-style door charge, or as I call it, knocking.

So instead I decided to wait outside his room. Eventually he would have to come outside, and_ eventually _talk to me. But let's not get carried away, I'm taking this one step at a time.

The sky was like a trail of fire, occasionally interrupted by a cloud or two that smudged the glare.

Clouds, very interesting. How did they cheat life? I'm really, I get the whole "not living part", but almost everything eventually dies.

Trees, die.

People, die.

Some materials that we never thought could be destroyed we now know can be. I swear if I could be anything but me, I would be a cloud.

And that's how Myles caught me, staring into the sky with my mouth agape. I wonder how long he had been standing there. I was sitting down and that makes it much harder to see anyone because of the glare. The reason I could tell it was Myles was because of his puny stature. He wasn't looking at me, just staring into the sky like me.

Then he shook his head, "Is there a reason your out here?" It wasn't a hostile question, more of an open-ended question.

"Umm... yeah. I thought we could talk."

"About?"

"Everything." I know that sounds cheesy, but it was the first word that came out of my mouth. And sometimes, I honestly don't think I have control over my words. There is no stop sign in my brain to tell me otherwise. I say what I think or feel.

"What's there to talk about?"

Ok, that pissed me off. "What do you mean! There's literally thirty different topics we need to discuss, I counted them in head while I was waiting."

"Like what?"

"Don't belittle me! Seriously, if we're going to talk then let's talk. But if your going to run in circles... then screw it! I'll just wait out here until your ready."

I hadn't even finished the last word of my mouth when the door shut.

Normally, this is about the time when I should start crying. But really, does crying make anyone feel better? Your just left with strung out emotions in the form of snot and tears. So as a form of coping, I sat on the dirty floor and argued with myself.

_Obviously he doesn't care._

Obviously he does, or he would have been such a douche, duh.

_Really? You made absolutely no effort to keep me out there. Make him talk to you._

No, that is a terrible idea. Forcing someone to talk does not make the situation better. Miles will talk when he is ready.

_You're insane._

Well... can't really argue with that one.

I went back and forth until the sun had finally set. There was nothing left to look at the but the half-moon shining in the pitch black sky...

To be continued


	8. Chapter 8

Eventually, I did go back to my room. I had to let the whole ordeal sink in before I could go back (to my room), the starting point of this debacle. And before I go any further, let me say this: I. do. not. want. your. pity. I do not want anyone to feel sorry for me when I opened the door to my room and walked directly over to last night's leftovers. By that I mean the rest of the liquor.

Let no pity come upon my soul when I grabbed a cup, brushed some random strands of hair out of my face, and pulled my head back to chug down the remainder of my wasted life savings.

Swug! My throat is conditioned to the acidic feel that comes along with drinking. I pursed my lips and let the evil sensation send shivers from my head down to my toes.

After a couple moments of hopeless drinking i realized that men had indeed objectified the art of alcoholism. First off, it's called one _man_ drinking games.

Like a woman totally couldn't play it better. I have never lost a drinking match, that I remember... Either way women find it offensive.

*L*4*A*

10 minutes later, offensive meant that I don't want to be in this scenario. This is not fun.

I was on the floor moving my hands up and down like I was making a snow Angel. Back and forth, back and forth. While my head popped up and down (in a not-perverted way), vainly attempting to follow the motion of my arms.

This went on until my hands started to burn from rubbing against the floor, and the back of my head felt like someone had shoved a brick into my parietal lobe. Eventually I stopped, the room was too dark for me to tell whether my hands were bleeding or if it was just carpet-burn. For a couple of moments I just lay there staring at the moon: the only source of light. My breathing was slow, but my chest would slowly move up and down, kinda like waves on the seashore.

*L*4*A*

That's how I woke up the next morning. Laying on the dirty floor.

Excuse me, _my _dirty floor.

Knock, knock!

_Oh Shit! ... _

Then I thought about it, would getting away from here really be that bad? No more Miles, no more gossip, I can definitely find sex and cigarettes elsewhere.

Knock, knock!

So, to get back to my original point I was trying to make last night: No remorse should be generated from the human brain when I do something stupid. Like picking up the cups, planning out how I was going to tell the Eagle who all I had slept with since I had got back, and giving the Eagle my own "bird".

Knock,knock!

"Okay, okay! Give me a minute."

Door opens. "You look awful."

"Shit, Colonel. I thought you were the Eagle." He looked dressed for a funeral: slacks, a nice velvet button-up shirt, and a pair of nice dress-up shoes that quite frankly looked out of Colonel's price range. "Where are you going to, a funeral?"

"Your breath smells terrible."

"I get it, asshole."

He rubbed the bottom of his nose while maintaining eye contact. "This outfit is for special occasions. It's the only nice outfit I have. When I heard about your wreck, I assumed you would be in the hospital, or _worse_.

"Damn."

"Yeah. Anyway since it had already been drug out, I just decided to wear it."

"What's the special occasion."

His eyes stared into me like I was a ghost. "I'm alive, aren't I."

**To be continued**


	9. Chapter 9

The awkward conversation came to a stopping point when the Colonel said, "the Eagle wants to see you". Any sentence that ends with "the Eagle wants to see you" kills a conversation.

That happened around five minutes ago. Now, I'm walking across the campus to the Eagles office. Spring was really starting to make its mark: the once flooded-marshy wasteland has transformed into a beautiful landscape filled with dandelions, freshly cut grass, and a radiating Sun that lit the place up like a Christmas tree.

It makes me want to throw up.

It also made me run into the door of the Eagle's office/home/masturbation chamber.

"Come in"

All of sudden a wave of doubts hit me._ What if he knows I was drinking? What if he knows I was behind the the firework prank? What if he is just tired of my shit and wants to get rid of me? _

The more I thought about it, the less open I was to the idea of getting kicked out of Culver Creek. I can't leave this place. Where the hell would I go?

Home?

Hell no.

I grabbed the bronze doorknob with sweaty hands and a heavy heart. Then I slowly opened the door. I saw the Eagle's head slowly rise up from his desk.

"Alaska, come in."

There was a brief pause, I considered the offer. Then... My inner me struck.

"Fuck this shit." I slammed the door behind me and sprinted for my car. I don't why I was sprinting. I mean really, what was the Eagle going to do?

I was just in one of those moods. No one could stop me, no one could talk to me, and no one could listen because I wouldn't know what I was saying anyway.

After a few minutes my smoking lungs started to catch up to me and I started to slow down. One foot gliding past the other became one foot became a pair of shoes seeing who could closest to the other without hitting. I could hear myself breathing and before I realized it I was facing the door to my room.

_Makes sense, I need to get my stuff before leaving._

My room was always and will always be a mess, no matter where I live. But this, this is insane. My room had papers, cups, and wet and dry books alike scattered across the _clearing_. Or that's what it was supposed to be the called, mine should be called _the_ _ambiguous. _Get it, because it's not clear!

Never mind.

Then I realized: the thought of packing everything in my room is what really intimidates me. My room is always this messy.

_I cant leave the books behind._ Half of my books managed to be trashed with me living in the room. I can only imagine what would happen if I left the books unguarded. Also, my books have always been there for me, whether they like it or not. What can of friend would I be if I left them for dead?

I closed my eyes and gave myself a brief moment of silence. Every time I touch one of my quenched books I get really upset. Like finding Kevin Tall and waterboarding him upset.

The book's hardcover had become a crusty shell to the papers it protected. It started strong and determined, shelved and guarded. But in the end it just couldn't hold up to the pressures of Culver Creek.

I scooped the book up instead: the ideal way of keeping the hardcover intact with the inside. I proceeded to do this with every book. Like a new born child they were delicately lifted from the floor, held with care, and escorted to the car.

I walked by a couple of students, but no one bothered to say anything like "Hey Alaska, why the hell are you taking a handful of wrecked books to your car?" Or "You don't appear to be in a healthy state of mind. Maybe you should take a break from mysteriously hauling off books to your car."

So I continued, because it appeared no one cared anyone. Who knows, maybe they thought I was too far gone anyway.

On my last haul, this time with the normal non-flooded books, I bummed into a weekday warrior. I had seen her before, but she was younger, a freshman I assume

She had long, curly bonds hair and was rather tall for her age. Perky curves and a flat stomach. Her face was what gave away her youth, because the rest of her body certainly didn't.

"Umm, do you need help with that?" She pointed to my books in hand.

"No, thanks for asking though." I put my head down and almost barreled past her, but she stuck her shoulder in front of me... And it hurt.

"Ouch."

"Look, Alaska, that is your name right?" She didn't give me time to answer. "Whatever your... doing" she said as she suspiciously eyed my books, "make sure it's not something that's going to get you in trouble... or killed."

That's the nicest thing a weekday warrior has ever said to me. So I flipped her off and sped back up to my brisk pace. No way some curly haired bitch was going to go all Dr. Phil on my ass. I appreciate the effort though.

I took it all in: the weird ass hallways, the hideout were we smoked more cigarettes than the average diner waitress, the store where I bought my liquor with my feminine charm, the buffriedos and their crunch, the gym that looked like a hangar where the Colonol has a solid streak of getting kicked out to maintain , pissing off the Eagle for the fun of it, weekday warrior's and the problems that revolve around them, and finally: my friends.

I'm not mad at any of my friends, how could I be? My friends are great.

Lara's genuine kindness and concern, at the same time having a serious badass streak.

The Colonel, what can I say? We're partners in crime. Best friends for the past three years.

Talkumi: the fucking Fox.

Then there's Miles Halter. Who I am going to forget starting right now.

After dropping off the final set of books in the backseat, I went back to my room to get the necessities like food, water, and toothpaste/toothbrush. Yes, tooth paste is a necessity.

I told myself I wasn't going to cry when I left my room for the last time, and I didn't. But walking across the campus and all of its glory on the way to my car, it was on my mind.

And when I got into the drivers seat of my car, I cried like a baby.


	10. Chapter 10

The road trip that followed was just as miserable. As a matter of fact, I don't remember most of it.

My eyes have this crusty, burning sensation you get from just waking up. And for a split second everything around me is pitch black, like my world was at a standstill.

I do remember showing blatant disregard for my life by staring at the dotted, yellow lines that covered the middle of the road. Staring long enough that they became groups of yellow fuzz and I couldn't tell when one ended and another began.

I also remember laying my head against the steering wheel, closing my eyes, and pushing my foot as hard as possible against the gas peddle. Hoping for the best and thinking that if my luck ran out, that would be just fine.

I remember thinking how wonderful death must be for those who have earned it, and how I deserved shit.

That's a total of three events.

Everything that followed is a blurr. It think I lost consciousness.

There's a space in the driver's seat window where glass used to be, several pieces of glass were spread across the driver's seat and carpet.

I brushed a couple of pieces off my blue jeans. "Shit." Every body part seemed to be intact, that's always good. I was bleeding, but nothing serious, just fragments of glass everywhere (myself included).

"Damn you glass!" A piece was stuck in my elbow, not cutting into my skin, but rather _inside_ my skin. I think I'm going to just leave it for now, don't want to make anything worse. Like being that person that tries to pry a piece of glass out with another piece of glass.

The whole ordeal is rather awkward, I'm face down on the driver's floor mat and I can literally touch the gas pedal with my tongue if I wanted too. But I don't, because that would be gross. Even though my tongue has touched worse unclean starters of the throttle valve than this gas pedal.

I just lay there awhile. Neck jammed between the floor and the dashboard, breasts against the nasty carpet, and my ass up in the air. It was so uncomfortable it felt good. Like rough sex.

And just like rough sex, eventually it ends and you have to get up and go on with your life. I swung my hips to the right side of the vehicle, taking my legs with it. I pushed my hands against the carpet and slowly pushed off as I angled my upper body to the right and reserve-crawled my way out of the space under the dashboard and into the passengers seat.

"Fuck me, that's more of a workout than I've had in months."

Now what? Call someone maybe?

I checked my pockets and then scrambled under both the front passenger and drivers seat looking for my phone. Then it hit me...

"Motherfucker!" The phone is in my room.

"I take my fucking books, fucking toothpaste, fucking DVD of confiscated porn! And I forget my phone?" I picked up some shattered glass of the ground, crunched it in my hand until blood oozed out of my fist, then I threw the scattered pieces that didn't get stuck to my hand.

My breathing contracted, my heart was beating a thousand miles an hour, and my palms were sweating again. I was feeling dizzy, so I sat down on the side of the road and started talking to myself.

"Chill Alaska, play it cool." Eventually the Eagle will lose his shit and send out a search party or something, it is a Tuesday...

I thought it over, my own words were comforting. I just need to relax before I do something dangerous. And that's the last thing that needs to happen.

_What I would give to have my Mom right now._

"Alaska?"

*Silence*

That was not me, and I certainly never wanted to hear that voice again...

**Authors Note: If your reading this I really want to thank you for your support, but that's not the reason I'm leaving an author's note. In this chapter Alaska uses a lot of profanity, in particular the f word. I want to clarify the only reason I use so much profanity (in particular when Alaska realizes she doesn't have her cell phone) is because I wanted to really emphasis her frustration in that situation. Alaska is a character that is known for a sharp tongue and there is no way to dance around it, in fact that is part of what makes Alaska who she. So thank you all for putting up with Alaska's bad vocabulary, and most importantly thanks for reading. DFTBA**


	11. Chapter 11

"Mom?"

I am so not turning around. I really don't want to know what's on the other side.

Ohhh, the irony of that thought!

I'm setting in the grass near the emergency lane, my car rattled and scratch. Nothing serious considering I lost complete control of my vehicle. It was in the grass as well.

Then she spoke again. "Alaska."

"Mom, is that you?"

"Alaska, why didn't you help me."

Another moment of silence.

I hate silence. Especially when there's nothing left to say.

Now tears are welling up in my eyes. "I... I don't know. I just couldn't. I was confused and I didn't know what to do."

"Alaska why didn't you help me?"

"I don't know."

"You could have saved me."

"I'm so sorry."

I just sat there, staring at the ground. Not angry, or sad, or even happy. Just...numb. Like a drain that collects residue, a little something for everyday. After a long period of time it just quits functioning, it just gives up.

"Alaska, why?"

I put my hands over my ears, "Quit talking."

"I don't understand."

"Stop talking."

"Did you not love me?"

I jumped up and then came crashing down with my fist, landing like an ape.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU'RE DEAD, DEAD, DEAD!"

Then it stopped, it finally stopped.

It felt like a part of me had just died.

It felt good. Like the weight of the world was finally off my shoulders. Like the Mom in the back of my mind had finally given up the ghost. Closure.

Will I ever know if Mom was behind me? No.

But to be honest I really don't care anymore. Because it always felt like Mom was right behind me whispering in my ear, lying to me

My breathing is starting to level out and my heart rate is returning to normal. No orgasm could compare to the pleasure I felt.

_She's dead. Time to move on._

I will always love my Mom, and I will always miss her. But is it sad to say letting the guilt go feels better than loving Mom ever will?

Maybe, but life shouldn't revolve around my Mom. And as much as I hate to say this, she is not coming back. She's a lost creature.

But fortunately for me, I finally figured out where I'm at, at least. I didn't make it very far after I passed out, my proof: it's the same frickin' road. There's swerve marks from when I lost control of my car. I'm guessing I only drove for another 100 yards after I passed out/gaveuponmyself and jaunted into a mini-meadow. And how all of this happened without me dying... I don't know, but it sure is promising.

I could probably walk back to Culver Creek in a couple hours if I wanted too. And that sounds really nice.

And I swear I would have if I didn't see a black jeep park behind me with Chip Martin inside of it.


	12. Chapter 12

Chip had his hand swinging over the open driver's side window, loosely moving like an abandoned swing.

"Found you."

"Didn't know I was lost."

I pressed a finger to my lips so Chip would know, _No more talking, I get the last word_. I walk up to my car door and slowly open the door, because you never know what's delicate and what's not after a car wreck. For all I know it might fall into a million different pieces when I get in. Actually, that's would coincide pretty well with my luck.

For the first time I'm really getting to sink in the damage done. Nothing serious in the back: a couple McDonalds cups decorate the carpet, but that's what it usually looks like when I decide not to clean my car on a weekly-basis. There's also some miscellaneous carpet stains, but everyone should have those.

In conclusion it wasn't as messy as it sounds like. Not as clean as that car your grandpa owns and your just waiting for that fucker to die so you can take that smooth-ass ride. But, it was rather clean.

Funny thing is, my car is sitting in the backyard of someone old-white guys farm, and if he was awake... he would be pissed. He would probably call the cops, and I've had enough cop drama for my lifetime.

So I get comfy in my seat, press on the brakes, shift gears, and weave my way out of the grass and back onto the road. I motion for Chip to get into his "car" and follow me. I love Chip, but I have no idea what the hell he is driving. It looks like a Subaru and a station wagon had an ugly baby.

I press hard on the gas and coast down the highway, blowing by a worn down rest stop and passing an old lady that didn't get the memo: get the fuck out of my way.

I didn't actually through the window to see if it was actually an old lady or not, but the vehicle was a Cadillac DTS. Needless to say it was an old lady.

The speedometer is at 95 and Chip's swagwagon can't really keep pace, but that's ok. I'm not trying to lose him, I just like going fast.

I kept the pace until I heard something fall of the back of my car. Not as in something "clunk, clunk" I guess I lost my license plate. More like oh_ shit I think I just lost half of my car._

"Shit."

I looked through the rearview mirror, but it was already too late. Whatever it was, it's gone now. I tug on my hair in frustration, then I turn on the radio.

"Next time you feel the need to drive, buckle up, it's the law."

"Fuck you."

I turn the knob to another station. Something with less of an authority complex.

Chip's still behind me. He has one hand on the wheel and the other in the air like, "where are we going?" He's probably getting his panties all in a bundle, so I make a mental note to stop at the next gas station.

This radio station's not much better. They play oldies songs for the elderly that have died and just not been found yet. I reach into my glove box for my CD' s, only they aren't there. My right hand scans the rough, dusty surface of my on-the-go car closet.

Then it hits me, I left them in my room, along with my CD player.

"Motherfucker!"

I can see Chip through the rearview mirror motioning for me to turn left. I would have never noticed the gas station... I put my turn signal on and make the cut more dangerous than it had to be: barely missing a t-bone, courtesy of a pissed off driver in a Chevrolet Tahoe.

Then I pull into a open parking spot in front of a window and wait for Colonel.

Colonel pulls in almost as fast as me, his green hatch back barely missing the paint on my drivers seat door.

"Watch it. That shit's expensive to paint."

He gets out of his car and immediately walks over to hop on to my hood. "Is that why you haven't painted your hood."

"It's the same reason you have a shitty car."

"Ouch." He gets off my hood and walks back to his Car, gently opening the door on the passengers side. He taps the seat. "Take a seat in Uncle Colonel's car."

I roll my eyes, but then I smile and get in his Car. On the outside his Car is still a dump, but on the inside I can tell Chip really made an effort to clean his shit from the last time I rode with him. Scattered burger wrappers were gone, condiment stains were loosely erased by bleach and detergent, and the car actually smells decent. That has to count for something.

Colonel walked across the front of the car, opened the door, and then got into the drivers seat.

Then he pulled a complete 180: his brow wrinkled, his eyed had the glare of a pissed off Mom, and his hands were balled up into fist. No that I was afraid he would hit me, Colonel would never do that. Besides, I can hold my own with anybody.

"What the hell are you doing?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Elaborate."

"You come back to school for a day and a half after you nearly kill yourself, and then decide to runaway."

I stop him. "How do you know I was running away."

Colonel made a motion with his eyes like he was chasing a rainbow. "Really, Alaska." He points down the road. "The next stop is Birmingham, you _hate_ Birmingham." He scratched his knuckles, "The Eagle's got like a freakin' police force searching for you. He thought you had decided to run away again, I didn't." He rubbed his hand against his face. "The Eagle was right."

I put my finger into his chest, "I. Do. Not. Run. Away." My finger was trembling, adrenaline was kicking in and I am about to let everything out, I'm about too explode.

Mom, this is for you.

**Authors Note: The Colonel's name is actually Chip Martin. Both names are used interchangeably.**


	13. Chapter 13

I grabbed Chip by the collar. "Ok Chip." He raises an eyebrow, he knows damn well I'm getting serious when I use his actual name. "My Mother has been dead for over a decade."

My hands feel like they're vibrating. I have to pause to clear my throat, it's like there's a massive rock stuck in my neck.

"I have one job to at least show some degree of respect to my Mother: show up to her grave on her birthday. But guess what? I can't even do that! You know why."

For once in his life Chip was serious. Not as in _I'm a man on a mission_ serious, but rather showing an emotional seriousness that I had never seen before. His face was contorted in grief and for once in my life I really feel like I'm getting through to him.

"Why Chip?! Answer the question!"

He just shakes his head. He doesn't want to answer, and I don't blame him.

I take my hand off his collar and point it at his face. "Because I'm a fuckup, that's why. I always fuckup."

At this point I'm crying again. I take short, loud inhaled breaths comparable to those of a four year old girl. There's snot dripping down my nose and salty tears running down my checks, leaving little rivers across my face. Lonely rivers that have no idea where there going, there just trying to get away from Alaska.

Aren't we all.

"The worst part is I managed to make this about me. I mean, she's my Mom and I consider it a burden to visit her grave. That's not normal Chip!"

He says nothing, because he knows it's not.

"I killed her, Chip. It's my fault."

I can barely see through the tears in my eyes, but through the window I can see a dark cloud closing in on us.

"You didn't kill her, it was a mistake."

Rain is approaching from the horizon. Heavy drops crashing against the ground, it sounds like pop rocks when they go in your mouth: Crackle, fizz, pop.

Almost instantly rain appears on the windows, slowly sliding down the glass like tears.

"Hey did you hear me? I said you didn't kill her, it was an accident."

I wanted to believe that. I really did, but that's just not the truth. I neglected her, stared at her, did nothing to save her.

Did I do this out of malice? Of course not.

But the reality is... I am the reason she died. There is nothing that can change that in this world, no comforting word or drug could possibly relive the guilt.

That is why I tried to kill myself. That is why I have to end my life, it's the only happy ending I could have. Because she is everywhere, she _is m_y labyrinth.

Chip must have noticed I wasn't listening. He had his head down with his hands on the steering wheel.

"Look, Alaska. I don't know where you were going, but I promise it's not the answer." His right hand moved from the steering wheel to my shoulder. "You can't always run away from your problems, sometimes you have to face them. When my Dad left me, I was really bummed out. It's like he just immediately disappeared from my life, and it sucks. It's like, this person I love, just one moment is there and then leaves. I knew it was going to happen eventually, but you can't prepare for something like that."

I blinked. "Your talking about Miles aren't you. You think I'm running away from Miles."

It wasn't just raining anymore, now it's crashing down. The wind is shaking the car, whistling through the creases in the doors. Lightning strikes constantly, and I feel helpless, stuck in this car in the midst of the apocalypse.

Chip starts up the car and shifts gears. "Will talk about this later." He didn't have to tell me he was concerned about the storm, I can see it in his face.


	14. Chapter 14

We (and by that I mean Chip) pulled out of the parking lot and quickly turned to get back on the road. My driving is awful without an aquatic cyclone heading my direction, so I really doubt Chip would let me drive on my own given the situation.

"Hey, Chip. Maybe we should just stay in the gas station." It's looks safe, kinda, in a last resort we are fucked kind of way.

"I think we would be safer standing in the middle of the road than to stay at that dump."

He's kinda right, the roof had shingles sticking out like a sore thumb stuck up somebody's ass. And here I was thinking I was being the voice of reason.

Chip was blankly staring ahead. That's what he does when he's upset and doesn't want anyone to notice.

"It's okay, Chip. It's just a storm." The clouds did look rather threatening, in particular when you see aluminum cans moving off the ground. It's like a magic trick.

His eyes were still on the road. "Bitch, did I say anything?"

_Pardon me. _"You don't have to, I can tell when you're being a pussy. Right now is one of those moments." I now that sounds kind of rough, but I really don't like to be called "bitch". It's just a misogynistic, degrading, derogatory word used by privileged men. Which is why I'm surprised Chip used it, he must really be upset.

We drove past the spot of my fiasco. Excuse me, second fiasco. Hitting some familiar landmarks along the way, like rich-white guy farm, and an old log cabin with some old lady rocking on her chair stroking a fat tabby cat. For a while neither of us say anything, talking would lead to a conservation based on how it is almost impossible for the storm _not _to catch us. Like, right now it's just a matter of how, if, and why we manage to survive.

The storm is catching up. The earth stops existing, and pure darkness takes over.

We both continue to stare straight ahead.

"Alaska, I've never told you this, but you're my best friend. You will ALWAYS be my best friend."

"Fuck you Chip, were not going to die. Just take a deep breath and keep driving."

"I don't want to drive anymore."

And I thought I was the crybaby.

I reach across the middle and grab the steering wheel. "Switch me seats, were not giving up just yet."

Chip swipes both of my arms off the wheel without even taking his eyes off the road. "It's pointless, we need to park, get out of the car, and find somewhere to get low. Otherwise the storm is going to flip and kill all _three _of us."

I grit my teeth and my face turns into a snarl. "Chip, give me the FUCKING wheel or I will be the only person not flipped and killed."

Both of his strong, sturdy hands are stuck to the wheel. I've never seen him like this before, I mean, not losing his shit or anything. Out of the three of us: me, car, Chip. It's the most likely to have _another _mental breakdown, to the person showing the most self control, in that order. It's just, I've never really seen Chip scared before, and that scares me a little.

I try to pry his hands off the wheel. "Switch me seats!" Now I'm literally sitting on Chip's lap, fighting for the steering wheel with my feet searching for the gas pedal while Chip tries to slow the car down.

"You're going to kill us both."

Swerve.

At this point I'm not for which side of the road my car is on. Chip is moving his free foot from fighting my foot off the gas pedal and returning to slam the brakes.

I need a different strategy.

"Chip, I promise I'll give you the greatest blow job you've ever had if you just switch me seats. As a matter of fact I'll give it tomorrow after I guide us through this storm."

Swerve.

Chip had elbow against my stomach trying to push my off, he spoke in between grunts of effort to move me. "What. Happened. To. Feminist. Alaska."

Swerve.

"This is desperate Alaska, and if you accept my offer please move out of your seat." I can barely hear myself over the pounding rain, and that takes root to a bigger problem. The inevitable has happened: the storm has finally caught up with us.

Normally this would be when Chip starts to gloat, but given the circumstances he decides to lecture me instead.

"I told you there was no way we're going to avoid that storm." He still has to use one hand to keep me in my seat. I'm convinced we can still outrun the storm, even if it has caught up to us.

So it's really surprising that the car is still moving. Chip is just as surprised. "Right, time to park." You can only feel the car slowing down, outside there is no indication, black continues to swallow us.

His hands are loosely on the wheel. He looks relaxed, almost relieved. I almost feel sorry for him.

I fling myself over in one last vain attempt to grab control of the car. I used my entire body weight in one huge shove to push him off balance.

"Whaa..."

I go shoulder first and slam Chip against the drivers door. Now we're both crammed in one seat, with Chip trying to get over the initial shock.

I don't why he's shocked. This is the exactly the kind of shit I do in these situations.

His foot is still pressed to the break. Damn, those two are inseparable. One kick to the ankle and wall-a! The car is mine.

Now it's mine. I can feel the rubber beneath my feet, begging, pleading with me to put the hammer down and get us out of this storm.

... And run us off a cliff.

**Random Note: I picture Alaska looking like Lorde. You know, the chick that sings "Royals". Anyway, just thought I'd throw that out there. Tell me what you think, readers. **


	15. Chapter 15

_We're not dead. We're not dead. How the fuck are we alive?_

That's what I've repeated in my head for the last three hours or so. The hell if I know how long I've been in here. Talking to myself passes the time while I waste in a dirty hospital bed. I'm in one of those typical hospital rooms: white walls, nasty floors, and the smell of old people floating in the air. I haven't spoke, moved, or opened my eyes since I've woke up. I don't need to open my eyes to be aware of my surroundings. I know I'm in a hospital. So to cope, I lay in bed with my eyes closed, thinking, _ how are we alive._

In regards to Chip, he just got lucky. As for me...It's not practical to survive one fatal car crash, much less two. If I had died with Chip, that would be just fine. I wouldn't have to explain to him why I drove my car off a cliff, and why we shouldn't finish the job himself and kill me.. This is assuming... Chip is alive. That's something I haven't even considered. Maybe he did die... Sometimes it sucks to be lucky.

Maybe I should change my tune into _I'm not dead. I'm not dead. Why the fuck am I alive? Chip kicked the can, kicked the can, I guess only the good can die._

I wish I had died the first time. It would have been a great way to die. Overdosing on pills, being murdered, wasting away with age, they just don't sound appealing to me. The mystery I would have left behind... "was she drunk?" "Was she trying to kill herself." "It was an accident, obviously." "Why." "Why now". That is a much better legacy. It sounds narcissistic, but let's be honest, we all want to leave behind a legacy. Maybe leave behind a mystery, or some famous last words for Miles Halter to read and decipher. The idea of dying just sounds relieving to me. The peace and quite. Everything would stop. My mind would finally get to rest, and so would my Mom. She would quit talking to me if I was dead. If I was just like her... What would there be to talk about?

I still haven't opened my eyes, the eyelids lay stuck to my pupils, the skin is pressed together like a patch of wrinkled clothing. Eventually I'll have to open my eyes, but until then I'll be ignorant. Because, I don't want know when I open my eyes whether I can see or not. And If I can, I'm afraid of seeing Chip. What if his face is disfigured? What if he's dead? What if I'm torn and shredded, existing through life support? That's scary, just the thought of that is unnerving. I squirm in my bed, moving my legs, raising my arms, twisting my fingers. Relief floods through me like a tidal wave. _No apparent damage, now I just need to open my eyes._

I'll wait.

For a couple of moments it's just me and the sound of an oversized air conditioner vent. Then I hear the door to my room open, slowly moving.

"Hello."

I hear small footsteps hit the floor. Probably an intern nurse that hasn't become fat yet. "How are you Alaska?" I hear her bending over to take a seat. "Last time I was in here you were in a bit of a struggle."

Not a familiar voice. Probably knows my name through the database. "I'm good, just tired."

She shuffles in her chair, rather uncomfortably. "You were really lucky you survived that crash, just a a couple scratches." She gets out of her chair. "It's amazing you're alive. You are a very blessed person."

_Very blessed indeed. Now go fuck off._

I hear the sound of footsteps hitting the floor. A couple of moments later the door closes and I'm by myself again. It's just me and the air conditioner.

"Bitch thinks I'm lucky", I mumble to myself. Though, the confirmation that I am indeed not on life support was much appreciated. I finally can open my eyes. I take a deep breath and start to open them. Pain sears through my forehead, like someone lit a match, slowly spreading fire across my nose up to my hair.. When my eyes finally open it feels like I'm looking through a foggy window, everything is in specks and blotches. At first I'm really worried, but after a couple of minutes everything starts to clear and the pain leaves my forehead. Then I look around the room, I was dead wrong. This is not a traditional hospital room. True, the walls are white, but everything else is different. Black tiles combine to make the floor, the room is much bigger than expected: probably 30 to 35 feet from back wall of the room to the door on the other side. A much nicer hospital room. I examine both of my arms, no IV on either. Actually, I'm not hooked up to anything. The scratches the nurse was referring to are just minor bruises, one on my left knee, the other on right below my left hip bone. Nothing serious.

_I wonder how long I was out? _I thought of Chip, my stomach did a back flip. _What the fuck have I done? _I push both hands against the mattress and lift myself up. I sat there for a couple of moments, letting my blood rush back through my body, slowly my dizziness goes away. The bed has guardrails, _like I'm a toddler. _The only way to get over them without breaking them is to leapfrog over it... It's a big ass rail.

It takes ever ounce of strength to grab the bar and throw myself over it. It's like fucking three feet tall and I'm afraid if I stand up to walk over it my head would hit the ceiling. The last thing I want to do is to give myself a headache.

My feet hit the floor without a sound, I have serious ninja skills. I creep to the door in an old-movieisque fashion: slowly one knees flies in the air, extending the leg in mid-stride, foot landing two to three feet away from it's predecessor. The whole thing is probably unnecessary, but it's fun to be sneaky, especially in a hospital. Then I remember what I was suppose to be doing. Am I really that narcissistic?

I stop with the bullshit-ninja me and return to the normal-bitch me. I finish my walk to the door like a normal person until I reach the door. It's a broad, white door with a gold painted knob. There is no way to lock it from the inside, which makes sense considering it's in a hospital. I turn the knob and push forward. Nothing. I turn the knob and pull back. Nothing. I stare at the door, "Fuck you, door." I knock on the door from the inside, "Someone open the door, please."

It takes awhile before the door opens, standing on the other side is another nurse. Obviously not the same one, this lady is "healthy", to put it nicely. She smiles politely, "Well hello there! I'm glad you awake. We called your dad in earlier, he's in the waiting room.

_Fuck_

"Is that the only person you called?" I didn't say it in a hateful way, or at least I didn't mean to.

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"Um, no. Can I go and see him."

She gives me a creepy nurse smile. "You stay in here, I'll bring him in." She turns around and starts to close the door, but I catch it before it shuts.

"How is Chip Martin doing?" She smiles again, but this time it's a sad smile. The kind of smile your Mom gives you when a family member dies. The kind of smile that's more powerful than words. She doesn't say anything, just closes the door.

**Author's note: Well guys the story is slowly coming to end. There will be probably be just one or two chapters left. It's a tricky ending so I don't want to cut it short, I hope it blindsides everyone. It's a not a traditional ending. Anyway, thanks for reading. Love it? Hate it? Let me know!**


	16. Chapter 16

Author's note: I know, I need to get back to writing. So as a heads up there will probably 2-3 chapters left in the story depending on how long the ending takes (climax, tying up loose ends, resolution, etc.) In the meantime I would really appreciate it if you guys would check out my poll/survey. The question is: if you could spend a day with any John Green character, who would it be? Once again, thanks for reading.


	17. Chapter 17

It took 3 hours before someone finally opened the door again. In the meantime I was able to dismantle the fence like-structure surrounding my bed. I found a remote control under the one chair in the room. It took me a couple of minutes, but I figured it out.

Dad came in wearing a thick, black jacket with wrinkled blue jeans. He took slow, reluctant steps as he walked through the doorway. As he was walking in I could see someone over his shoulder following him in. It was lawyer lady, who I had met a couple of days before. Aka, the lady with big tits. She looked like a skank, she was wearing the kind of dress you would wear in church. You know, long skirt with thick treading. It looked really nice until you reached the top of it, then it looked like v-neck and you could probably see her breast in their entirety if you're positioned in the right angle. She was carrying a briefcase, an apparently light briefcase due to the fact she was swinging it around. I let her settle in before I narrowed my eyes and set my sights on miss tits a lot (In a non perverted way). I narrow my eyes.

"What are you doing here?"

There's only one chair in the room, a dinky little spot that just happens to have four legs. Tits looks at my Dad and then sit in the chair, my Dad stands across from her on the other end, his back leaning against the wall. She moves the chair to where it's facing me, then she sticks out her hand.

"I don't believe we've met, my name's Melissa."

Her hand is sweaty. She smells like expensive perfume, which in turn smells like farts. I take a moment to sink it in.

_Am I that forgetable. Or is she just messing with me._

I ponder for I minute, keeping the room in silence. Then I realize what's going on.

_She's speaking in code. She doesn't want Dad to know about my night with the police, not yet anyway._

I manage to fake a smile, "Nice to meet you." I hold out my hand and shake hers. She has a firm grasp, but the entire time her eyes are on me. Meanwhile, Dad's just standing.

Tits takes out her briefcase and opens it. Then she turns it toward me, "Nothing in there but receipts, phone numbers, and an empty bag of dorritos." The case closes. "I always have my case with me. You know, out of habit. I didn't want the suitcase to intimidate you or anything.

_Too late._

She does seem to be nice, I'm just not that stupid. Her hands are pryed up by the chair's arm, all three hands in intact with one another. It's a handset of inquiry, that urges seriousness. Dad's just standing.

_If you want seriousness, I'll give it to you._

I get down to business. "So, what do you want."

She leans leans back in her chair like she owns the place. "I'm your family lawyer, have been for the last 14 years." Every word seems to be followed with a hand motion. Hands going up, down, diagonal, forward, backwards. She needs to find a way to get those hands in her mouth. "It's been awhile since we last met. Last time there was some legal issues with... You know."

I'm staring at the ground. "Don't say it."

"Ok." She takes a deep breath. "Anyway, you were just a little girl back then. You've changed a lot. You were pretty as a child, but now you truly are gorgeous, if you don't mind me saying."

Pause.

"But, I'm sure you don't remember me."

_How could I forget._

My eyes blink. "Sorry, my memories not the best."

_ Is this really necessary._

I shoot her a "what the hell, are you trying to push our luck" kind of look. She pretends not to get it. Instead she closes her briefcase, removing it from her lap and placing it under the chair. Dad continues to stand straight, like an idiot.

Tits places one leg over the other. Then she takes a small notepad out of her pocket.

"Don't worry, nothing serious. I would just like to know what's happened over the last couple of days." Then she rests her head on her hands again, eagerly awaiting an answer.

_Better to just get it over with._

"Fine. Chip and I were on the road, I was driving. There was this massive storm hovering over us and I panicked. The road was really wet and I lost control of the car. It sent us finally over a cliff."

That's almost the complete truth. I only left a couple of details... Like how I purposely drove us off that cliff. Poor Chip. Tits is scribbling in her notebook. Dad is sitting on the ground, just sitting there.

Tits starts again, "How tall was the cliff."

"You mean you didn't see it."

She shakes her ahead. "Afraid not. Anyway-" She nods her head for me to continue, "Continue."

_What kind of lawyer are you?_

A: A really bad one, apparently.

"Um, right, the cliff. Well, it was twenty five to thirty feet high."

"Uh-huh." She's still scribbling in that dumb notebook. "And this cliff was where, exactly?"

"The cliff directly in front of the torn up car. You know, the car with two nearly-dead teenagers in it." I slam my fist against the sturdy mattress. "I mean honestly lady, you act like..."

She's still writing, writing, and writing, and rewriting what I just said. Her head is buried in that stupid notebook, glancing. Truly, I want to take that book and shove it so far up her ass that she pisses ink for days. Instead, I wait for her to finish.

I raise my eyebrows, "What's your diagnosis, Doctor?"

The notepad goes back into her purse and she puts her hands in her lap. Her lips curl into a smile, "Do you want the good news, or the bad news?" Dad wakes out of his coma and finally decides to pay attention to what's going on.

_I'm a natural pessimist, the change would be good_.

I give my answer like I'm ordering take-out. "I'll take the not-so bad news, please."

Tits straightens herself up in her chair, but mostly just her tits. "Chip is completely fine, probably in school right now learning French or something." Dad walks closer to my bed and decides to talk as well. "The Doctors don't believe you suffered any serious injuries, just some scraps and bruises." He's rubbing his hand in my hair, I'm forced to look him in the eyes. He's making me think of Mom. It makes me sick.

Dad goes on to talk about some mumbo jumbo that I wasn't listening to, I was just thinking of Mom.

"Now are you ready for the really good news?"

I wipe my eyes with my fingers, "What?"

He chuckles and puts a hand on Mellisa's shoulder. "I said, do you want to hear the really good news?"

I shrug my shoulders, "Sure."

Dad and Tits share a glance, "We're getting married."

I rip a piece of my hair out. "MOTHER...FUCKER."


	18. Chapter 18

I didn't _mean _to actually rip a piece of my hair out, it just kind of happened. It's one of those moments when adrenaline is going through you like a gas pump. My eyes are open wide, or at least I think they are; My face is on fire. I feel my hands shaking, but I can't stop them. They feel like they were pressed against a grill.

How can he just go behind my back and get engaged? I mean, sure I'm not the most approachable person, but still, he left me in the dark. And right now, nothing would make me happier than to wrap me hands around the neck of that stupid bitch and slowly watch her choke to death. I don't think I will though, not yet. I think I will spare her life. Just this once. I think.

I don't fucking know.

I look at Dad. My father doesn't seem to recognize me anymore. It's like I'm a foreign creature, a monster.

I swallow my pride, and I feel spit go down my neck as I clear my throat out. "So, when did this happen?" The question takes them off guard.

Slutface squirms in her chair, "You're not going to kill me?"

I let out a groan, "No, not today." It's a joke, kind of. I'm too tired, too upset, and too lonely to push my father away. He's all I have left.

"So", boobs folds both hands under her chin and rest her face on the fingers, "as you know, I have know your father for a very long time, which is why I need to tell you that we only started dating a year ago."

Just picturing my dad all dressed up for a wedding, his wedding, with this lady. It makes me sick.

Boobs fails to recognize the look on my face, that, or she is ignoring it. I'm sure she's had a lot of practice with hiding the truth, being a lawyer and all.

"We actually met each other because of you."

_Oh, no. I caused_ this.

"Your principal was dead set on expelling you last year. Your Dad called and asked me to reason with him. You know, convince him to keep you in school, or else." She winks. I feel like throwing up.

"And then what happened?"

"Well, we never lost contact." She runs her hands through her hair. "You know how it is."

I narrow my eyes, "Really? So I am the cause of this?"

She smiles. I die a little inside. "Yes." *Pause* "I guess so. I suppose it is your fault."

She tilts back her head to laugh. Never have I felt so much hate. I want to take that throat. That fully functioning throat, and crush it.

I smile back. In fact, I smile so wide that my eyes start to squint. Then, I turn my head towards Dad. He looks rather uneasy, as if he knows exactly what I'm going to do. All of this time, and he still knows me better than I do.

My tongue dances on the inside of my mouth. I stare at the Bitch.

I see Dad out of the corner of my eyes. "Dad, I'm sorry you have to see this."

Claws out, I lunge at tits and grab her by the neck. I start to shake her neck.

"FUCK YOU, WHORE! FUCK YOU!"

It feels good to have my hands around her slimy little throat. The soft skin, the hard spine, feeling her blood rushing for an exit.

My Dad rushes over and stops me. He squeezes my arms until they release her. Then he puts his arms around my midsection and drags me out the door off to I don't know where.

All I see is a blur. The shadows of people, things, unrecognizable objects. Then, I pass out.

*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\\\\\***\\*

When I wake up, I feel a heavy weight on my hands and legs. Some kind of restraint, probably.

I open my eyes and realize that I am back in a lonely room much like the one before hand. There are metal cuffs around my arms and legs. I close my eyes and pretend that I don't exist.

It doesn't work.

Someone knocks on the door. I keep my eyes closed and pretend I'm asleep.

The door slowly opens, squealing until it stops.

"She's still asleep."

_I don't know that voice._

"It's just been a couple of hours."

_I sure as hell know that voice, I just don't remember who it is._

I let them talk without interruption.

"She's not mentally fit to go back into society. She'll kill someone."

_ The only person I want to kill is tits, and you can bet your ass I'm going to see that through._

That second voice is so familiar.

"Lets just keep her here. Well just have to wait and see what happens."

"We can't do that! She is an imminent threat to everyone, including herself."

I know that voice.

"Trust me, I know her best." Says the second voice.

Then, it strikes. Everything comes full circle.

I Know Exactly Who That Is.

Too bad that voice is walking out as the sentence ends. The door shuts behind her.

That just leaves one voice. For a minute, the room is silent. Then, it's gone.

"You're not asleep, are you."

I keep my eyes closed. "Nope." I think of what to say next, before I actually say it. "So, I would really like out of these fucking metal cuffs right now."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

I open my eyes and look over at the old man. "Why not?"

The man has white hair, piercing blue eyes, and a calm demeanor that pisses me off.

He turns around and begins to walk off. "Because we both know that is a terrible idea."

I snarl, "get the fuck back here. I'm not done talking to you."

He stops and waves a hand over his shoulder, "I'm sorry about this. We will have to talk later."

I let him walk off until he reaches the door.

"Fine. I just have one other request."

*Silence*

"Can you bring in the other person you were talking to?"

**Authors Note: Ok, so I didn't mean to lie about the number of chapters this story will have, but I did. It just kinda happened. There will probably be two more chapters after this. **

**Thanks**


	19. Chapter 19

She-who-must-not-be-named has returned.

I lay in my bed, with little to no movement. Given the circumstances, I consider my myself rather calm. I feel my chest moving up and down with the breathing of my lungs. I can hear the air entering and leaving my body.

There is a clock in the room, and it's annoying as fuck.

It feels like someone's been fucking with my head. I can't think straight. It pisses me off.

I bite my lip and wait.

*\\*\\*\\*\\*\

No one has bothered to show in the last three hours. During that time, I fell asleep. I dreamed that I was back at Culver Creek. Back on the floor, back in that room. Back where this all began. I get up, apparently not intoxicated, and walk to the door. I put my hand on the knob and pull back, waiting to feel the warm spring air outside. Except, it doesn't happen. The damn door doesn't open.

I start to panic. Afraid of waking someone up, I walk on my toes to the other side of the room. I walk past Miles limp body and go into the bathroom. Then, I walk into the shower. I hold my nose. _Smells like piss._

I'm going to have to teach these boys a thing or two about tidying up their bathroom. If you ever want to have sex in the shower, it can't smell like piss, or pube sweat.

I bend down and look at the rusty ass drain. It's probably never been switched out before. I put my fingers throughs the holes (something I'm rather good at) and turn the drain clockwise. Then, it makes a slurping sound as I pull it up.

No joke there.

Attached to the drain, just barely, is a piece of threat that's holding a knife as it dangles in front of my face. This is my `in case of emergency` knife.

Now, most people would probably ask, "If you're that worried, why don't you just keep a knife in your pocket"?

My answers are, one, that's too fucking easy. And two, having a big knife in your pocket can get you in deep shit here.

This is no ordinary fucking knife. It was rather sharp handle that's small enough to put things through it. As a whole, though, it is rather big, very hard to break. Very sturdy, almost like it's made out of steel. The perfect hybrid solution for a Saturday night problem.

I swear I'm not describing my ass. Not directly.

Anyway, I put this knife here in case of emergency. I pick it up and examine the blade, in which I can see my reflection.

"Alaska, wake up!"

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

I awake like a time bomb. My head flies out of bed and my eyes unlatch like a mousetrap. I see that I'm back in the hospital room. I look up and see some lady with a bottle of water in her hands. It's a different nurse, this is an older lady with wrinkels on her face and veins on her arms that stick out like a sore thumb.

"Sorry, I have to wake you up every 4 hours." She hands me the water. "How are you."

My eyelids feel like they will never shut again, but it can't be that bad, saggy tits here didn't say anything. "Feels like I was just asleep for a couple of minutes."

She laughs and then writes something in her notebook. I immediately decide that I don't like her. "Well, if you're in good shape then I'm going to leave you alone."

_In what circumstance does being chained to a bed allow someone to be in good shape?_

"Ok." I watch her leave the room, slowly dragging her feet like she was wearing ankle weights. That makes me feel a litter better about being bound to an uncomfortable bed. _As soon as I get out if this thing, I'll be able to move as freely as the wind takes me. You, on the other hand, will never get to enjoy that freedom._

As I lay in bed, I think about the dream I had and if it was supposed to mean anything. _Ok, so I can't open a fucking door. So what? _Is that suppose to mean something? Probably not. I've had weirder dreams while sleeping in class. I see the bottle of water laying on the table beside my bed. That stupid bitch forgot to give me the water. I guess I'll just stare at it. In the meantime, I should figure out what to do with she-who-must-not-be-named. Just the though of seeing her again is enough to kill me. I don't think I can take it. Slutface? Sure, I can deal with her. But to see her, I want to. I want to see her so badly. I asked for her. In reality, I wish I hadn't.

Thirty minutes later, the white-haired doctor from earlier comes in. Apparently his name is Doctor Phillips, as he has just adressed me as such. Behind him is both the healthy nurse (whom I had met earlier) and the nurse who forgot to provide me a certain necessity crucial to survival. Behind them is my Father, who looks like he has seen a ghost.

"Alaska," says Doctor Phillips, "Have you ever heard of Paraphrenia"?

I look up at the ceiling. It's only direction I can look without twisting my neck. "Is that an STD"? No one laughs, tough crowd.

"No. Remember what you told Mellissa about... Well, what you were telling her about before you started to choke her."

I use every strain, muscle, fiber, willpower, and sad thought possible to refrain myself from laughing out loud. Then, I re-adjust my mind to think back to what we were talking about. "Umm... You mean the wreck me and Chip had. I'm assuming Chip's ok, because since I've been here no one has told me anything!"

I look over and see that Phillips is staring at my Dad. Then, Dad speaks. "Chip is fine. He's not in the hospital, he's at school."

First I feel relieved. Then, I feel angry that it's taken this long for someone to tell me something so simple. "Good, it's about time that someone tells me something."

"That's what we're trying to do, Alaska. Just listen to Doctor Phillips!"

At this point I hate my Dad almost as much as I hate Melissa. "Has Chip, or Pudge, or Takumi bothered to come and visit." Tears are starting to fall down my cheeks.

Once again, Dad answers. "Once."

_That's good. At least they still care about me. _"Is there anything else about Chip that you guys haven't told me"?

Doctor Phillips clears his throat. "If you don't mind, I would like to continue on the subject of paraphrenia. Paraphernia is a very rare mental disorder that can cause hallucinations and delusions, among other things."

My stomach turns and twist, making a knot inside. I'm not stupid. I'm self aware enough to know where this is going. My mouth opens and after a few moments, words decide to come out. "Never heard of it."

I look straight into eyes of Doctor Phillips, hoping he will just disappear if I stare long enough. Maybe even turn into thin air and slowly drift out the cracks of the door and into the hallway of the hospital. I don't want to know the truth. I don't want to see this silhouette and then this woman walk into the room.

I feel uneasy, and then I start to come undone. Mom just smiles and puts her hand on Dad's shoulder.


End file.
